The Walking Dead
by VampedVixen
Summary: Illyria gets used to being powerless, useless, and trapped in a angst-riddled world.


The Walking Dead

By Vixen

Illyria found herself once more pacing the small office that belonged to Wesley. He was gone again, mourning over a loss that he could not get over. Loss of the being who had previously inhabited the shell, his Fred. The whole procedure of human grief seemed pointless to the ex-god, what was gone was lost forever; there was nothing that would bring her back to him.  
  
Her leather catsuit creaked with each motion, as she strode back and forth in front of the large window. Her steps were light and lithe, like a dancer's movements. Looking out to the streets below, she watched with only a passing curiosity as the humans went along with their lives mindlessly. From so far up, they looked like ants in an endless parade, and as well they should. As far as she was concerned, they were only insects, bugs to be swatted away in her search for leadership and domination.  
  
The saddest part of it all was that now, with her power stripped from her, she was barely stronger than they were. No longer did she contain the power befitting an old one's stature. Weakened and useless, she no longer had a place in the world. It disgusted her. She hated putting up with such restrictions, felt them like a noose around her neck, strangling the energy from her.  
  
It would have been better to just let her power explode from within her. It would have taken out half the world, killed millions, and people would know her name and fear it. Why had she been so weak of will? Why had she chosen to live in a state of utter helplessness?!  
  
Her inner tirade grew until she could go no longer without smashing something.  
  
Raging against the confinements that held her, Illyria hurled the chair from Wesley's desk across the room. It crumbled when it hit the wall, mangled itself in a twisted fashion and fell to the ground. A hole in the wall was left behind, but it did nothing to abate her anger or sooth the overwhelming feeling of loosing and of being lost.  
  
Calming herself, Illyria's attention was brought to the ferns that were placed in the corner of the office. Once they had sung to her. Lately however, they had ceased having intercourse with her. Meditating over the last conversation they had shared, Illyria stepped closer and placed a gloved hand along the bottom of the largest leaf, willing it to speak again to her. Plants were easier to understand and empathize with than the other creatures that inhabited that dimension; their words were simple and their needs were few.  
  
"Food, Sunlight, Water." She said, remembering the simple things the green had craved. "Essentials elements that support the life cycle of living creatures." It was the same for almost all beings in that dimension; she had later learned, through Wesley's books and his teachings.  
  
Was there something more, she wondered. What made their tiny lives worth all their pains and trouble?  
  
Above the plants, a shelf hung on the wall. Placed on it with loving care was an ornate silver picture frame that held a picture of the shell, Fred. Illyria picked it up, holding it in her hands for a moment. It still was strange, these photographs. Wesley had explained to her how it was just a snapshot in time, a moment captured with ink and paper.  
  
It still felt like Illyria was being watched from within it though, like Fred's eyes were boring straight into her, whispering the truth the ex-god would not tolerate hearing.  
  
"You don't belong here," it spoke in a forever silent, yet still accusatory tone. "You shouldn't even exist."  
  
Illyria glared back at the girl, blue eyes full of cold fury. She could not deny the message however, but she could stop the messenger from sending it, from watching her, haunting her.  
  
It had meant much to Wesley, being able to see Fred's smiling face beaming back at him from the small silver frame, which still sat on his shelf. A makeshift shrine to his lost beloved. He was still trying to get her back, which would in turn destroy Illyria. Everyone, it seemed, believed the message of this lifeless girl.

The ex-god smashed the frame down on the ground, crushing it under the weight of her foot. "We are who we are." Even if Illyria wished to bring Fred back, she lacked the power to do so. So very powerless, so very alone, and all she could hear was Fred's voice ringing in her ears.

Picking up the frame, Illyria inspected it one last time. The photo had been crushed, tiny shards of the glass covering imbedded themselves into the inks and colors of the picture. With a flick of her wrist, Illyria tossed it in the garbage can, getting rid of the evidence and stormed out of the small office, intent on finding something in the world that was worth the trouble of staying in it.

The hallways at Wolfram and Hart were full of lawyers and various attorneys, all going about their lives in the busy world. They were little more than obstacles to Illyria, not worth their own efforts. They had no purpose, lost in a sea of filing and what they thought were important jobs.

It was all about the money, she remembered. That's what Wesley had taught her a week ago. That was what was important in this realm, not personal power, which none of them possessed even though they thought otherwise, but wealth. The world of business and daily drudgery disgusted her, and only made Illyria more certain that there was nothing meaningful in this world she now found herself stuck in.

Passing by Angel's office, Illyria stopped and cocked her head towards the leader's room. Silently, she listened to the conversation taking place within the office. The half-breed's offspring had stopped by again, the one the shell shared memories with.

"Is that the last of them," The younger one asked. He signed the document, and set the silver pen down. Illyria could see that he was wrestling with inner thoughts, things he would not or could not say. The truth. The creatures of this world seemed to always be dancing around it, never accepting the world for what it was, or themselves for who they were. "Are we done here?"

"Yes, that should be it." Angel gathered up the papers, somewhat sadly though he hid it well. "Thanks for coming down again, Connor. Wolfram and Hart just likes to have its affairs in order."

"Sure thing." Illyria could hear the same sadness in Connor's tone.

The bond between them was broken. The words they could not say stayed bottled up within them, choking the life from the air. They too were trying to find out who they would be in the strange worlds they found themselves trapped in. Struggling against themselves, neither the boy nor his demon father was free to make the choices that would have contented them.

Connor wanted his father in his life, but did not want to speak the truth and walk that road again.

Angel, likewise, was split between protecting his son and his ongoing fight in the war against the darkness. Without a cause, without the drive or ambition that was lost when he lost his son, Angel would never find the will to beat back the dark. Illyria was positive of this.

Leaders needed ambition, without it they and those underneath them would be lost.

Illyria's gaze followed the boy out of the room. Looking past him, the ex-god saw the other half-breed who had become her only company in this world. The white-haired one.

"Hey, now, listening into the big boss' conversations," Spike smirked as he came closer to Illyria, "That's not very polite. I doubt it's very interesting, at any rate."

She looked at him, curiously. He walked around the building like he owned the place, but beneath his unconcerned exterior there was a certain smell. Just beyond that of the traces of nicotine and his common odor, was the smell of broken dreams, broken love. Illyria could recognize it whenever he entered the room, it filled her senses, suffocating her.

However apathetic he appeared to be about his current situation, there was a deep longing in the demon for a life he could not have, a life he had left long ago. Illyria startled just a little, realizing that they were the same. She too wanted something she could never get back. The fact of being just like one of the lesser beings filled her with a feeling she had never felt before. Fear.

No longer was she the one in power, no longer could she make those around her tremble with fright. Illyria had joined the lower ranks, and would never rise again.

"Out of my way, half-breed," The ex-god would not stop to be the willing participant in the conversation Spike wanted to have. He backed away as she drew upon her diminished resources and all her leftover strength to pummel him.

"Come on, now," the vampire raised his hands, laughing at her display of anger. Still unsure of what he had done to upset her in the first place, he nevertheless was enjoying the sudden outburst, "No fighting in the office. Wouldn't be very business-like, would it?"

Illyria suffered only one return punch to her face before flipping the vampire onto its back. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, but the ex-god only pushed her way through them while stomping towards the emergency door. Running up the stairs, she exited to the roof. She took in a hurried breath; eager to breathe in the night air in the one place she did not feel cramped by inferiors.

She walked towards the edge of the building, looking up at the stars. They were almost the same as when she had ruled the land. Almost. Some had grown dimmer and some had died out all together. New ones had sprung up in strange places that changed the patterns.

It only took a moment to realize she was not alone. Standing in the corner of the building was her one ally in this world. She proceeded towards him, still a bit unsure of why she wanted a human's companionship. He stank of a broken heart, like the others, but there was something about the way he spoke to her, helped her to understand.

"Illyria," He said softly. "I expected to find you up here sooner or later."

"I could not tolerate the lower forms any longer," She said, resting her arms on the stone lip of the building. "I grow weary from their duplicity, the falsehoods they fabricate in order to make themselves feel right in a world that is nothing but right."

"Same reason I'm here," Wesley told her, a faint smile resting on his lips.

She starred at him, finding the words to express the new feelings of hopelessness she'd never felt before. If there was one person who could help her understand, it was him. It was his purpose. It was why she had secretly chosen him to be her new Qwa'Ha Zahn, because he knew how this world operated.

"Tell me, Wesley. Tell me that there is a point to this world and to the lives of the creatures who inhabit it. Tell me that it exists for a better reason than to take up space in the universe, that there is meaning beyond that which one can see on the surface."

There was a moment of silence between them as she waited on his answer.

"I wish I could."

.END.

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Written for the CYA Ficathon.

My challenge was:

Characters/Pairings you want the story to focus in: Illyria  
Characters/Pairings you want in the story too: Connor, Spike, Wesley.  
Things you want: Angel Season 5, pre-Not Fade Away. Illyria mind-melding with the potplant and the "song of green". Illyria wondering about her place in the world.  
Things you don't want: No Eve, no Lindsey/Eve.  
Extras: Angst is good with me.


End file.
